


Rides

by Threevowels



Series: Talks, rides and washing dishes [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Muslim Character, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threevowels/pseuds/Threevowels
Summary: “Ned”, is all Peter manages to say, looking back at the boy next to him, before a loud honk pulls him out of his thoughts.Peter looks at the gray car, that has pulled up in front of school. A five seater, with bumper stickers on the rear window and boxes on the back seats.A young woman, with a blue scarf around her head and glasses, is sitting behind the wheel. The window closest to them is rolled down.“Hey, Potter”, she calls. “Let me give you a ride.”





	1. Counting

_**September 2016**_

Left foot _5372_ – right foot _5373_  
Left foot _5374_ – right foot _5375_

School has ended a few minutes ago and Peter is walking out of the last class of the day, with Ned at his side.

Peter is counting. His mind is focused on the steps that he has taken so far today.

Focusing on the things he is doing, or the things he can count around himself – cracks on the ceiling, stairs, letters on the worksheet, tiles on the floor – have helped Peter a lot in the past few days, since things have gone so terribly wrong. Helped him to _ not _ think about those things, that is.

Everything about Homecoming has left him tired.

(Tired, restless, fatigued.)

But he can not let himself think about those things.

He has to focus on the things around him, to not be taken over by the things inside him. It is a practical method, keeps his mind occupied. At least when he is awake.

When he is asleep, however, he can not push anything away, can not focus his mind on other things. When he is asleep the events of that night come back, crashing him, with great force.

Most nights he is drowning. There is so much water around him, it is all he can see. Peter keeps trying to swim, but he is always pulled back down. He can not breathe.

Some nights he is pulling the ship together, forcing it to not drift apart, with all his strength. His arms and his back feel like they are going to rip apart. He is pulling and pulling but there is no use. He can not catch his breath.

The worst ones are the nights when he is back under the building. There is darkness all around him. Nothing but darkness. Not even a glimmer of light. He can feel the building crushing him. Pushing more and more of the breath out of his lungs. He does not fight back those nights , wants it to be over, lets the pain in, but it never helps. Only makes it worse. He can feel his ribs crack and his bones shatter. His lungs hurt so much. He can not breathe.

Those nights are the hardest. Peter always wakes up in a cold sweat, never shouting or crying. He can hear someone breathing in far too fast, hyperventilating. It takes him a moment to realize that it is him. It take another few minutes to stop. His lungs are aching and he is gasping, trying to get as much air into them as possible.

Until he feels light headed. Until his throat hurts and the tears run down his face and he goes back to counting the cracks in the walls and the letters in the books on his night stand.

The first night, after, he tried to read but he never managed to make any sense of it all and flashes of his dreams kept popping up in his mind. That was when he decided to count instead.

It's something that Ben taught him when his parents died. He told him to focus on the things around him to stay from drifting away into memories and pain, when it feels like too much to bear.

Peter has liked numbers back then and he still likes numbers now. They are easy to understand.

Easier than fear. Easier than pain. Easier than panic.

Sometimes he counts the words of people around him. Ned has said _ 234 _ words so far today. Not a lot. More than on Friday. He only said _ 89 _ words on Friday. Peter wonder s how many words Ned used to say _ _before_ _, for a brief moment but he doesn't let his mind wander. A wandering mind is not safe.

Left foot _ 5432 _ – right foot _ 5433 _  
Left foot _ 5434 _ – right foot _ 5435 _

Numbers and letters. Counting them. Adding them up. That feels safe.

Ned stops walking abruptly and looks at Peter, after they had gone down the stairs and were standing in front of school. Ned's eyes looked tired.

(Peter is _ so _ tired. Because he can not go to sleep. Because when sleep does overtake him, after hours of counting letters, of trying to stay awake, it never lasts. Always leaves him more tired than he was before.)

“Do you want to come over to build some Lego?”, Ned asks softly. (_244_ words)

He is being very soft with Peter in general, ever since that day. Always taking care of Peter. Talking to him, even when Peter does not reply most of the time. Sitting with him at lunch, even though Peter can not get himself to eat anything most days. Handing him granola bars and candies, when Peter's mind gets fuzzy and he feels like he might pass out.

“Sorry”, Peter says, his voice coming out hoarse from misuse. “I've got to help May.” (_37_ words)

It is not technically a lie. May had asked Peter to bring out the trash, when he got home.

She was being very soft with him, too. The first few days she left him be in his room, had brought him sandwiches and snacks.

Now she tries to treat him the same way she did before. Asking him to sit with her for dinner, asking him to bring out the trash, talking to him, when she comes home. She is behaving the was she always did. The problem is that Peter doesn't feel like he used to.

Even though things around him go on as usual, he feels like he isn't really a part of them anymore.

Like spending time with Ned. It doesn't feel the same anymore. It is hard. As much as Ned tries to go back to how things were before, he sends him looks full of worry and Peter doesn't know what to do about those.

They haven't started walking again and Peter can feel a mix of something rise inside himself. He starts to feel dizzy, so he turned his eyes towards the road and starts to count the tires of the cars.

After _ 24 _ tires Ned talks again.

“Alright”, Ned says. He pulls his backpack in front of himself and grabbed a granola bar out of one of the side pockets and pushes it into Peter's hand. “Here, take this.” (_248_ words)

“Thanks”, Peter says, glancing at Ned for a moment. Worry is written all over his best friend's features. It makes Peter's stomach turn. He looks back to the cars. _32_ tires. (_38_ words)

“Of course”, Ned says, putting his backpack back on. “And, well”, the boy hesitates. Peter glances at him again. Ned seems to look at one of the windows of school. “I just wanted to let you know that I am here, okay? If there is anything you need, or if you need to talk. I am here. Okay?”

Peter stops his counting for a moment, he can feel heat rise in his throat and behind his eyes, and looks at his friend. He opens his mouth, but all he can think about is not being able to breathe. He looks back to the road.

_ 277 _ words, he thinks , _ 277 _ words and _ 46 _ tires.

“Ned”, is all Peter can manage to say, looking back at the boy next to himself, before there is a loud honk.

Peter looks at the gray car, that has pulled up in front of school. A five seater, with bumper stickers on the rear window and boxes on the back seats.

A young woman, with a blue scarf around her head and glasses, is sitting behind the wheel. The window closest to them is rolled down.

(_50_ tires)

“Hey, Potter”, she calls. “Let me take you for a ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series of stories was mainly inspired by the idea how all the things that Peter Parker has to go through, during Homecoming, would affect him mentally. And how the people around him would try to help with that.
> 
> Also inspired by The (singular, but hey, we take what we can get) muslim, hiiabi character in Spiderman Homecoming. (I don't even know her name)
> 
> When I was a little girl, I would wonder why there were never really women in Hijab walking in those streets in New York, in movies. Spiderman is the first big-blockbuster movie I have seen, that included a muslim woman with a hijab, who is just a normal person. They didn't give her lines though, but maybe it'll only take some more twenty years before that happens.
> 
> (Hopefully not.)
> 
> I added a muslim, hijabi character of my own and let her interact with those of the Spiderman universe. Let's see how it all goes.


	2. First Ride

The nickname makes it's way out of her mouth pretty much on it's own accord.

Ela can't even remember the last time she has called him Potter. Long gone are the days, where the three of them would huddle on her sofa and watch one of the movies about the boy with the lightning scar.

Seeing Peter stand in front of school like that, looking more like the young boy she had seen sitting on the floor than he had in years, reminded her of that time. He had looked a bit lost there in front of school.

When they had first met Peter had quickly warmed to her, and warmed her heart, with his kind words, his clumsiness and his seemingly unstoppable waterfall of words.

(“Does he ever stop talking?”, Ela had asked a chuckling Ben one Friday evening. “Sure, when he sleeps, he is mostly quiet.”)

Now sitting in the same car as him, in the absolute absence of words, Ela wishes for the waterfall more than ever.

She was quite surprised when Peter agreed to come with her after a moment of contemplation. They never really made a habit of going to school together, Peter had told her that she shouldn't bother with him, he'd just take the train as he was used to.

Though the teenager next to her hasn't said a single thing so far, except a small “thank you”, and has instead gone over to look out of the window on his side, Ela is relieved to have a chance to talk to him.

A significant part of Ela's weekend was spent thinking about possible conversation starters or topics and she hasn't come up with a lot. Which is very frustrating. Talking to Peter has never been hard. There rarely was anything awkward between them.

Except that one time, which was probably the only time she had been nervous to talk to the teenager. When she had told him that she got the job at his school. Ben had assured her that there was nothing to worry about but she can still remember anxiety taking over every part of her insides. The boy had been more than happy for her, of course.

(“See, I told you, Ellie. I told you they would see how amazing you are.”, Peter had beamed at her, after she had told him about her new position as German and Arts teacher at Midtown High. “Is this really okay for you?”, she had asked him, relief flooding the anxiety out of her system. “Of course.”, he had replied, with the biggest smile she could remember ever receiving.)

  
(Ben had laughed, with a glint in his eye and had double-patted her shoulder. “See, I told you Ellie.“)

Now however, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she can hardly see any of that boy anymore. His eyes don't seem to hold any of that boyish excitement anymore, his voice isn't as high anymore. He looks like he has aged a lot in the past few weeks.

They have been driving for a while now. When she looks at him, his eyes don't meet hers, he is still fixed on the cars that are passing by.

Ela thinks again of how to best begin the conversation, when a poster on one of the buildings catches her eye. It is some kind of commercial for a new banking system, showing an eagle and a lion, next to a pretty woman with long blonde hair.

“Hey Peter”, Ela says, her eyes fixed back on the road now, one of her hands holding the steering wheel, while the other drums a beat to the soft tune she has put on, “Did I ever tell you about that workshop on public speaking I did, back in University?”

Peter glances at her for a moment, a frown forming between his eyebrows, and shakes his head.

“My first semester here at Columbia. It was quite interesting, actually”, Ela continues, remembering the things that she learned, about public speaking and also about herself, back in the small group of 9 students and an instructor. “It was called: _All eyes on you_ or something like that. A workshop to learn how to handle the fear of public speaking.”

Thinking back, that workshop had really helped her a lot. Some of the students in it had become good friends and even those she hadn't been overly friendly with did still greet her very kindly on the occasion that she did see them.

Those two weeks of talking about fears and worries had somehow pulled them together in a way that Ela rarely found happening in the hectic life at University.

“You know how I can be before oral exams and job interviews, but back then it was a lot worse. It affected me a lot, so I decided to do that workshop. We had to do all these exercises”, Ela says, checking the rear-view and side-view mirrors before changing the lane. “The teacher made us walk around the room as majestic eagles or proud lions.”

She glances at Peter again, he is still looking out of the window, the corner of his mouth seems to be twitching.

“A group of people in their twenties, doing their Masters degree in Math or Business or whatever, pouncing around the room like lions.”, she says, chuckling.

Reminiscing, caught in her thought, Ela does not drive the second the traffic light turns from red to green, which leeds to an orchestra of honks. Ela drives again with another chuckle and a small shake of her head. She has long since stopped getting worked up over the traffic, it is a foolproof way to get into a bad mood.

“There were all these people, from all kinds of backgrounds”, Ela goes on, once the angry drivers behind her appear to have calmed down enough. “People I would never have assumed to be afraid to talk in front of others. It kind of opened my eyes, you know. That things like that can affect anyone.”

Peter looks at her face with his mouth opened slightly. There is something there. He looks as if he wants to say something. Before he does though, there is a tiny shake of his head and he looked back out of the window.

“There was this one guy.”, Ela continues. “He must have been almost two meters tall. How much is that in feet?”

“6 feet 56 inches.”, comes his answer, without hesitation. He looks surprised, that he has spoken, but continued to look out of the window.

“Yeah, that”, Ela says, with a smile. “Anyways, he told us that whenever he has to talk in front of people, he starts to sweat like crazy. And there was this other woman who said that her hands would get so cold and numb, that she couldn't really hold her notes. Some people spoke about feeling sick or very hot.”

Ela is definitely one of those who feel hot and turn very red. As she is someone with always red cheeks anyways, when she does turn red it is something else. One of her friends, back in school, nicknamed her tomato after one particular group presentation in 7th grade English class.

“Does it still happen for you?”, Peter asks, looking out of the windshield, at the back of the red car in front. There is a black cat sitting at the rear window.It is blinking at the teenager with wide green eyes.

He lifts one of his hands and pushes it through his hair.

“Sometimes, yeah”, Ela says truthfully. There is a group of kids on the right, in bright yellow wests, waiting to cross the street. They squeal when they see the cat. “It's okay with students funnily enough, but with peers or adults in general I still get very nervous.”

“What does it feel like for you?”, he asks softly.

“It feels like my heart is going to come out of my chest.” Ela says. “My heart starts beating too fast. And I feel too hot, my face feels like it's burning up. And I can't breathe.”

Peter's breath hitches and he looks at her with wide eyes.

“I can't breathe”, Ela repeats slowly. “And then I am breathing too fast because I just can't catch my breath. Because I am thinking that I might make a mistake or that people won't really understand what I am saying and I worry about it so much that I can not take a normal breath. Well, it used to be like that.”

“Used to be?”, Peter asks, his voice slightly higher now than usual.

“Yeah, the teacher taught us some techniques to breathe better”, Ela says and glances at him again. “I've found a video on YouTube, on guided breathing, as well. I'll send you the link, if you want.”

Peter nods slowly, breathing a bit heavy.

“The last day of the workshop”, Ela continues her story. “The teacher made us do five minute presentations on a chosen topic. She made each one of us walk out of the room, get ready and walk back in to do their talk.” Ela puts the turn signal on, takes a look across her shoulder and turns into a street. “She had given us all the techniques and taught us the tricks so it should be easy, right?”

“Right.”, Peter says, it doesn't sound too sure.

“Not quite. It was pretty terrible actually.”, Ela chuckles. Thinking back to that moment, in the grand scheme of things, it seems like such a small thing but back then, she had felt very bad. “When it was my turn to walk out, I thought my legs would give away and my heart might literally leave my chest. But everyone else did was doing it too, so I walked out, did some of the breathing and came back in.” Ela turns into another street, they are close to home now. “And I talked about the Mirabilis japala. A flower that I know from Turkey. I had even looked up the name in English and all of that. So yeah, I did my presentation in front of the group.”

Peter looks at her waiting for her to continue.

“Well I did the talking”, Ela says. “And the teacher asked me how I felt during and before the presentation. I told her about how nervous I had been. Then it was time for feed back. She would ask the person in front whether they wanted feed back and if they did the group could say things that they had noticed.”

Ela takes another turn into a long street and stops the car in front of a tall apartment building. The woman turns her upper body to her right and really looks at Peter for the first time, since they started the drive. He is watching her face, listening to her words, something she hasn't seen him do with anyone in a while.

“She had told us to say positive things to one another, of course. One of the other students told me that it was nice that I was still smiling, even though I was nervous”, Ela says, smiling at the memory. “Someone else said that they liked my hand gestures while I was talking. But the thing that was the biggest surprise for me was what the teacher said.”

Glancing up at the tall building Ela wonders whether May is home from the hospital, already.

“What did she say?”, Peter asks quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

“She said that, apart from a slight tremble in my voice, she couldn't really tell that I was nervous.”, Ela says, still surprised by the statement years later. “She told me that I looked like a bastion of calm or something.”

Ela huffs a laugh. She was so shocked after hearing those words, that she hadn't really heard any of the presentations after herself.

Peter watches her, his head angled slightly to the side. The same way it is, when he is trying to find the solution for a hard equation.

“Do you know what I am trying to say?”, Ela asks.

Her eyes meet his and she gives him a small smile.

“To be like a bastion of calm?”, Peter asks back, his lips turned up slightly.

That makes Ela laugh for a moment but she shakes her head.

“No”, she says “What I am trying to say is, that it could feel like a whirlwind is inside of you, but people might not be able to tell. You need to tell them, for them to know.”

“What if it is too much?”, Peter asks.

His eyes are full now. Full of unshed tears, but also full of emotions, full of thoughts, that he seems to have pushed down for the past two weeks. He looks away, out of the window again, unseeingly.

“Well, I think the people around us that care, whether that's a good friend or a close family member, or even a teacher, won't think that it is too much. It might just be worth a shot. We'll never know if we don't try.”

The teenager looks up at her. He looks at her for a few minutes, the tears and thoughts in his eyes still there. Not brimming over. Just there for her to see. Then he gives her a short nod.

“Okay, enough talking for today.”, Ela says and bends between their two seats to grab her bag. She takes out two packs of M&Ms and handed one to him.

Peter takes the M&Ms and gives her a small smile.

It is tiny compared to his usual million-watt-smiles, barely a lift of the corners of his mouth. But it is there and genuine and it makes warmth pool into Ela's chest.


	3. Second Ride

Peter is not counting the steps when they get to the apartment and walk up the stairs.

He doesn't really need to count them. He knows that it's 108 steps. 9 flights. He has been counting every single one of the steps, twice a day, for the past weeks.

His mind is buzzing with the things that Ela has said. The idea of telling people about the things that have happened on Homecoming makes his head spin a bit. But that might be the lack of sleep and nutrients in his system. 

How can he tell people about those things? And who can he talk to?

May definitely can't know about any of that. Even thinking about telling her that he almost died, a few times, during Homecoming makes him anxious. She doesn't even know that he is Spider-man. She would freak out, if she found out.

Not that he has done a lot of spidermaning in the past two weeks. The only time he had gone out as the guy in spandex was a few days ago, but he hadn't made it too far.

The plan had been to do a quick patrol, to check whether everything was alright, and to clear his mind a bit. After a few minutes, however, he had noticed that the mask made it difficult to breathe. Feeling the panick rise inside himself, he had found an empty rooftop and taken off his mask to gulp in mouthfuls of air. He hadn't tried to go patroling again after that.

What a superhero he has become, he thinks bitterly as they climb up staircase after staircase. A superhero that is scared of his own mask.

He thinks of talking to Ned about it all, but the thing that stops him from telling his best friend is fear more than anything else. Ned has always looked up to Peter, even before he was Spider-man, in a way that means so much to him. He doesn 't want Ned to see him for what he really is. A child who is scared of everything.

For a brief moment MJ crosses his mind. She has started sitting with them at lunch for the last couple of weeks, but apart from reading her books and making a remark here and there, Peter hasn't really spoken to her. He doubts that she would care.

Peter knows whom he wants to talk to. He knows who would manage to makes the best of the Situation.

In that moment, he wants to talk to his Uncle Ben, more than anyone else on the planet, more than he can remember wanting to anyone else before.

He wants to tell Ben how scared he is, how much it pain he is in, when he wakes up from his nightmares, how he doesn't want to feel like this anymore. He can still remember the feeling of Ben's arms around himself and his kind eyes on his face, always waiting for him to speak. Letting Peter speak about anything and everything. Always having an open ear for his nephew. Somehow always knowing exactly what to say in those moments.

There would be no anxiety when talking to Ben. No shame to admit that he was scared. Ben wouldn't judge him. He wouldn't think that Peter was weak or useless. Ben would never be disappointed in him. But Ben isn't here anymore.

(“If you're nothing without that suit, then you shouldn't have it!”  
“I wanted to be just like you!” “And I wanted you to be better!” )

Peter knows that he could talk to Mr. Stark. If he did call him, the man would pick up, he is almost sure of that.

There is something inside him, that has stopped Peter to make the call. They haven't really talked since the day that Tony took away his suit. Peter doesn't even know where to begin. What to tell the man, that he has looked up to for his entire life and who is so disappointed in him.

There is a big part of Peter that aches, when he thinks about the fact, that Tony didn't try to reach out to him. Happy was the one who had to pick him up from Coney Island and took him to the hospital. Happy was the one who let him cry and sob that night, until he had fallen asleep. Tony hadn't shown up.

Someone clears their throat and Peter looks up to see Ela standing in front of him. Looking around he realizes that they are already in the hallway.

“I'll head home now, Peter. If you need another ride or anything else, you'll know where to find me, yeah?”

Her eyes are kind and open. They make Peter's throat feel tight and he gives her a nod.

“Thank you.” He can't even remember how many words he has said today. His mind feels slow and his head is starting to ache.

“Of course.” She gives him a wave and walks into her apartment with a yawn and a goodbye.

Peter picks his keys out of his own pocket and walks into the kitchen, where May is leaning against the counter. Waiting for him.

“Oh, hey dear”, she says, turning to her nephew with soft eyes and a soft smile. “ I've been wondering where you were. You didn't tell me you would be going to Ned's but I thought maybe that is where you were. I've made us some frozen pizzas. I couldn't find any ones with tuna, so it's just plai-”

May is cut off by Peter pulling her into a tight hug. He puts his arms around her middle, the same way he used to when he was eight and he didn't want to admit that the thunder outside was scaring him. Having May's arms around his shoulders, his nose in her hair somehow always made him feel a lot better.

She pulls him in even tighter and he can hear a few muffled sobs in his hair. With a pang he realizes that he hasn't really hugged her at all since that day. Having her so close makes some of the pain in his chest dissipate. His breath s come easier with her scent in his nose and her warmth so close.

They stand like that for a long while. Peter doesn't even realize that he is crying until May pulls away and wipes his tears away with both of her thumbs. She gives him a teary smile.

“Plain is fine”, he says and gives her a smile of his own.

May laughs and pulls him in again, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheeks and his forehead. If he were still seven, he might have blushed and asked her to stop. Now he just smiles.

He has always been a touchy person, with those he trusts. Hugging, kissing and gently touching people always gives him reassurance, that they love him, that they care, sometimes even more than words do. Receiving the physical contact, from May, that he has been avoiding for a while, feels really good.

They eat together and May tells him about a young patient asking her out at work. Peter wrinkles his nose. It earns him a loud belly laugh, that makes his heart and his chest feel warm instantly.

That night, when he can't go to sleep, instead of turning and tossing, counting letters and doing equations, he walks into May's room and gets into bed next to her.

It's something that he hasn't done in a long while. The last time he can remember was the night that Ben died.

It doesn't feel odd, when she puts her arms around his middle and he buries his face in her hair. It feels like being seven again, It feels like coming home after a long and tiring day. He falls asleep quickly, surrounded by her familiar scent and with her hair tickling his face and his neck.

It is the first time in a while, that he sleeps through the night .

When he is in school the next day, he is back to counting words and steps and people. But he also tries to focus on the words the people are saying, not only on how many they are.

Peter talks more to Ned again. Not a lot. By no means the same way they used to talk before. His smiles are still small and there is a lot of pauses when he is talking. He chooses his words cautiously and thinks about what to say before he does. There are still things that hold him back.

But the first time, that he does respond properly to thing that Ned is saying, his friend looks at him as though he is close to crying. Peter pulls him in for a hug as well. The seemingly constant worry on his friend's face is a bit less after that and he gives Peter genuine wide smiles, that make his insides flip. He hadn't realized just how much this had affected Ned as well.

With his mind a bit clearer, not focused on words and numbers and counting all the time, it does come as a bit of a surprise when he sees just how close Michelle is sitting to them.

Mostly she sits and reads during lunch, eating some of Ned's grapes or string cheese every once in a while. She doesn't look up from her book s a lot, while Ned tells them about one thing or another with more enthusiasm, than Peter has heard in a while. When she does look up, she glances at him, sometimes her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but then she shakes her head and she goes back to reading.

Peter can relate with that. After barely speaking for so long, he finds that he has difficulties with forming sentences and making them leave his mouth.

Sometimes he finds him wondering about her books. He would like to ask Michelle about what she is reading. They seem to be in German, more often than not. He wonders whether Michelle got them from Ela. She probably did.

Sometimes he regrets not taking German class. I t would be interesting to know another language. Over the years he had learned a few phrases here from his neighbor, but he wasn't fluent in the language by any means.

It isn't the same as taking a class. And he wonders what it would be like to be fluent in German. When Ela had started working at his school, he had looked forward to that. He had already been doing Spanish, though, and with his other classes, band practice and Academic Decathlon he hadn't been able to fit the class into his schedule.

During Decathlon practice, on Wednesday, Peter does catch his team mates glance at him a few times. This time Pe ter answers all of the questions, that are directed at him, correctly and it makes his heart pound faster when everyone gives him wide smiles. Mr. Harrington even pulls him in for a brief side hug and Flash doesn't make a single comment about him. Come to think of it Peter can't recall Flash being mean to him at all, in a while.

Peter smiles back at his teammates.

When he isn't listening to what a teacher or Ned is saying, the things that Ela has said, still turn over and over in his head, doing loops and somersaults whether he is at school, outside or at home.

Sometimes he finds himself opening his mouth when he is with Ned.

Everything rises to the tip of his tongue but then he swallows it back. He doesn't want to crush Ned's idea of Superheroes . Doesn't want to crush the idea of what Spider-man is in his friend's eyes. Even though he knows that those things are not really there anymore.

So he goes on with his life, still feeling a bit numb and still having difficulties to be normal sometimes but that is just how it is sometimes.

He does see Ela a few times, walking from and to classes, at lunch or the one time at home, on Saturday, when he is getting home from Ned's and she is leaving. He gives her a quick wave and a lift of his cheeks each time. The wide smile he receives makes him want to talk to her again, but he doesn't really know how.

So he doesn't, until it is the next Tuesday after school.

Ela is waiting in her car, in front of school, when he walks out. She is wearing a green scarf, that Peter recognizes as a gift from him and Ben, maybe three or four years ago. There is no trace of surprise when he doesn't hesitate to get in the car and put on his seat belt. She has been waiting for him.

“Hello, Ellie.”

“Hey there, Peter”, Ela says. “Miss U-Uber service is ready to go.”

The familiar soft music and musky smell in her car, that always reminds Peter of that one time they all had gone to the mosque together, makes him re lax into his seat a little bit more. He kicks his worn shoes off and pulls his feet up to his chest. The move makes her chuckle and shake her head.

“How was school?”, he asks her, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth .

“It was alright. Classes, lessons. The usual stuff”, she says and starts the car. She glances into the mirrors and over her shoulder and pulls out onto the road. “Michelle and I are thinking about doing a project for Mental Health week this year.”

Peter puts his arms around his legs and pulls them closer. He puts his chin on his knees and hums softly .

“That's cool.”

“Yeah, it really is. She is a really cool person.”

“She is.”, Peter agrees and gives a noncommittal shrug.

That's nothing new. The sky is gray more often than not in September, May works at the hospital, Michelle Jones is a cool person. Nothing new about that at all.

Ela gives him a side way glance, as though something he said is News to her, before she turns back to the road.

Th e memory of an emotion starts to rise up inside him, it is very faint and already gone before he can figure out what exactly it is . So he yawns, puts his cheek on his knees and turns his gaze out of the window to scans the streets for something to talk about.

He has somehow stopped counting things a few days ago, but now as he watches the streets, he finds himself counting people again. It feels familiar. Even c omfort. Like counting sheep, when you were smaller.

There is a group of kids, probably Kindergarteners, with their teacher, walking across the street in front of them. Peter can hear them laughing and giggling through the closed window. They are all holding hands. A row of tiny heads and yellow vests. They look a bit like a family of ducks.

When they reach the other side, one of the kids – a small girl, with a Spider-man backpack and two buns of hair on her head – flinches suddenly and closes her ears with her hands. A firetruck rushes by them noisily. The other kids close their ears as well. Peter glances up and he can smell the fire coming from somewhere behind them, it can't be too far away.

There is a mild tingle in his system, his Spider-sense giving a n attempt at alerting him, trying to get him to move. To help. He sighs and turns his head back towards Ela. He probably wouldn't be of any use to the firefighters anyways.

“A friend of mine, back in Germany, is a volunteer firefighter.”, Ela says and Peter focuses on her face. She is looking straight ahead, both of her hands holding the steering wheel tightly. “He sometimes told me about some of the missions he was on. Mostly they just saved cats from trees or helped with pumping out the water after a flooding of basements, but a few times he had to help with really big fires.”

Peter lifts his head and starts cracking his fingers. Pictures of fire and the Vulture flash in front of his eyes.

“He told me, that one time, they arrived and the house had been burning for a while, already. They couldn't stop the fire and all of a sudden they heard a child cry for help from inside.” Her usually red cheeks turn white.

“What did he do?”

“They went inside. Two of them. They found the little girl, who had been hiding in an area, where she was safe from the flames. Somehow they all managed to get back out in one piece. _Al-Hamdu lil-Lâh_.” Ela keeps glancing at the rear view mirror every few seconds. Peter can see a cloud of smoke behind them, when he turns his face to look out of the back window. “He told me that, for a few minutes, they thought they wouldn't make it. And that he was still having nightmares about that day for months.”

Peter's mouth fell open as he looked back at her. “He had nightmares?”

“Yeah, a lot. Sometimes his wife had to shake him awake because he was thrashing around so much.”

“But he is a firefighter”, Peter says. It sounds like a question and there is a question on his mind.

A firefighter surely wouldn't be afraid of fire, right?

“So?”, Ela asks and raises an eyebrow at him. “Firefighters are still people.”

Peter tries to find the right words for a minute.

Firefighters always seemed so much like heroes, even when he was a small kid. He had told Ben that he would love to become a firefighter one day. Because they were heroes that everyone could become.

As cool as Superheroes are, he had never realistically thought that he might be one, one day. He had dreamed of it, of course, but never let himself believe it. Firefighters were different. They were heroes, that didn't need super strength or millions and millions of dollars. They were just people.

“Of course, but I just never thought that they would be scared, well, of fire.”

The woman next to him gives a soft laugh. “I think our problem, pretty much as a society, is, that we assume that we are the only ones who are scared. That we are the only ones who are struggling. We forget that firefighters and all those out there who face scary stuff are people too.”

“Huh.”

“I mean, take Tony Stark for example. He has been openly talking about suffering from PTSD for years. The things that scare me or you, a test or an oral exam or thunder”, she gives him a small smile, she knows how afraid he used to be of storms. “are in a way tiny compared to the things those”, she makes quotation marks with her right hand “Superheroes are facing a lot of the time. Of course, that doesn't mean that the normal things we face are any less scary or valid or anything. There is so many people, who are scared, or terrified, of things but still do them. Even though they are scared.”

Her words make his stomach twist. The mention of Mr. Stark leaves an ache inside him but he pushes it away. Letting her words run through his mind again, having someone tell him that it is normal to be scared, even for people that are super, soothes a part deep inside his heart.

“Yeah, I guess.” Peter leans his cheek back on his knees and closes his eyes for a moment.

The soft tunes of and the warm of the car is making him tired. Usually he doesn't let his guaed like this around people, but it's just Ela. He trusts her and he has always known, that he can let himself be vulnerable around her.

Anxiety, that had oozed into him at the mention of nightmares, gets replaced by a cloud of calm. Most nights he does still have nightmares, still wakes up in a cold sweat. But he finds it easier to calm down afterwards more and more. The breathing techniques that Ela has send him help a lot and he finds an old hoodie in his closet, that used to belong to Ben. It still smells a bit like him and manages to calm him down.

Thinking of Ben's hoodie and his bed makes him yawn. He'll close his eyes for a couple of minutes. As soon as the car stops, he will get up, thank Ela and walk to his bed.

* * *

Ela's car has been parked in front of the apartment building for 45 minutes already.

It didn't come as much of a surprise that Peter had fallen asleep, with all his yawning and difficulty to keep his head up.

The teenager definitely looks like he can use some sleep. The bags under his eyes are a deep purple and she is almost certain that he isn't getting enough sleep.

There is soft snoring next to her and she glances up from her phone screen and at him. With his face wiped blank from anxiety, stress and the mask that he had been wearing for the past while, he looks a lot more like the 10 year old she had gotten to know. His forehead is smooth and his eyebrows are relaxed. His mouth is slightly parted and his chest rises and lowers evenly. He looks at peace.

She takes a picture of Peter and sends it to May, who is still at work. May replies with what feels like a million heart emojis. Ela glances at the teenager once more, then she leans between the two seats and takes a book, that Michelle gave her, out of her bag.

Who is she to wake the boy up, when he looks so calm. It might take a while for him to wake up on his own. Ela leans back in her seat and starts to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alhamdulillah (الحمد لله) is an Arabic phrase meaning "Praise to God" or "All praise belongs to God"; in everyday speech it simply means "Thank God!"


	4. Third Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sad chapter ahead.

**December 2016**

Peter is walking back from the cemetery, his mind a million miles away, when he spots the car in the parking lot. He hasn't noticed it, when he arrived but now, as he walks closer, it's unmistakably her sitting in the gray car.

His beanie is damp from the snow-rain, his cheeks are freezing from the dried tears and he hesitates before walking up to the car. Maybe he shouldn't bother her, maybe she wants to be alone, Peter thinks but then he takes a few steps closer and he can see that her shoulders are shaking a lot. And he can't just not talk to her.

So he walks up to the car and does their secret knock on the passenger seat window.

Ela looks up at him and her eyes are red and puffy. She looks at him but she doesn't seem to see him and for a moment he thinks that she might tell him to leave, but then he hears a click. He opens the door and gets in.

Peter really doesn't know what to say.

(_I guess I wasn't the only one who thought of him today. I miss him so much. So, so much. Do you remember all those moments we shared with him? It's my fault, __if I hadn't run off that day Ben would still be alive. Please, say something._)

Everything he can think of is too much, is not enough. He listens to her soft sobs and looks out of the window.

The first week after the shooting are a blur in his mind, but he can still remember the day that Ellie came back from Germany. A week and a half after. He remembers how little she said. She was the one to hug May, when Peter could not stand to look at his aunt. She had also hugged him, even though they usually didn't hug anymore at that point. She had come into his room and held him.

He had asked her the only thing that he could think of back then. (_Do you think that he is okay now? Is he in pain, Ellie? Please, tell me that he is okay. __Please, Ellie._)

She hadn't answered him. She had only held him and her shoulders had shaken and her sobs had sounded cut of, and pained, when they had mixed with his own.

Peter doesn't ask her this time. He doesn't know, whether he really wants to hear her answer. He doesn't know how he would feel either way.

Instead he leans his head against her still shaking shoulder and lets out a long sigh.

„Hey.“

Ela doesn't answer right away, but she doesn't pull away either. After a few minutes her shaking becomes less and less. Out of the corner of his eye Peter can see her gloved hand reach for his head and run through his hair.

„It's getting really long again.“, she croaks after some time, that might have been a minute or an hour for all he knows. She clears her throat a few times. „It looks nice like this.“

Stroking his hair used to be the main form of affection between them, back when he was younger. Usually on Fridays, after dinner, when they watched something on TV.

There is something so familiar about her fingers in his hair that makes the tension in his shoulders fall off. He turns his head more into her hand and closes his eyes.

„When did you come here?“, she asks softly.

„Maybe an hour ago.” Peter keeps his own voice quiet, too. Almost a whisper. Her hand is still running through his hair. The smell of her car is relaxing him even more and even though it isn't warm inside, it is warmer than he felt next to the grave. Ellie next to him feels like a source of warmth. “I rang your bell before I left, but I think you weren't home.“

„Yeah, sorry. I came here pretty early.“, she sighs and her hand stops for a few seconds before going back to the soft motions. „I haven't even been able to go in there. I don't know whether I can look at his-“, there is a choking sound and her voice becomes thick again. „At the grave.“

„Yeah“, Peter mumbles. „It's really crazy. He was here a year ago and now he just isn't.“

His own throat feels tight again and a few hot tears run down his cheeks.

„Yeah.“, Ela says softly. „You know, I dreamed of him last night.“

Peter hums and turns his head slightly to look at her. Ellie's eyes are fixed on a black tree, covered in snow, across the street. Her eyes are still brimmed with tears but there is a slight quirk to her lips.

“We were washing dishes in my flat.”

Peter chuckles. Ela looks at him and gives him a small smile.

“It was just like it used to be. Standing next to each other, arms covered in soap and just talking about anything and everything.”

“That sounds nice.”, Peter says and leans his head back against her shoulder.

There is a short pause, then her hand hand goes back to his hair, smoothing it out.

“It was really nice.”

“Did he tell you some history facts? Or ask you to tell him stories?”

Ela chuckles softly. “If I am not mistaken, it was mostly you who wanted to hear a new story every Friday.”

“True, you got me.”

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. There is an air of uncertainty about her. Then she does something that Peter hasn't see her do in a long time. She takes off her gloves and starts cracking her fingers and knuckles one by one. It is such an odd thing to see.

Peter knows that it used to be one of Ela's nervous habits, he remembers seeing her do that a lot when they first got to know her. He wonders what she is so nervous about and is about to ask, when she speaks again.

“When May first called me, I thought that I might go mad. I felt like it was my fault.”

Her voice is barely a whisper now and it sounds so raw. Peter opens his mouth, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“There was this terrible voice that kept telling me that if I hadn't gone to Germany, then maybe he wouldn't have gone out on his own that night.”

“That's nonsense.”

“You know,” she says and holds his gaze for a few moments before continuing. “That day, he left me a voice message, when he couldn't find you anywhere. He was so worried. May was at work and when he came home he didn't know where you were.”

Peter looks at her. He didn't know that Ben had left her a voice message.

“My phone was turned off.”, she says and her voice cracks at the end. “My phone was off because my battery had died.”

She gives a cold laugh and the tears run down her face again.

“It's the one thing he was always upset about. That he couldn't reach me properly. That he couldn't talk to me, because I am terrible at loading my damn battery. If only my phone had been on that day, maybe-”

“No”, Peter interrupts her fiercely, a bit louder than he intended. His chest hurts and his throat feels rough, when he clears his throat. “You couldn't have known that we fought and that I ran away. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine.”

Ellie looks at him with pained eyes.

“It wasn't your fault.”, she says simply.

“It wasn't yours either. It just happened.”

Ellie doesn't say anything for a long moment, she keeps looking at her hands and back up at him a few times, before she speaks again.

“I also thought about what he would be like now. Whether he would be okay. But-”, she shudders and rubs at her eyes with her hands. “I couldn't think about that. So I just want to think about him and my memories. I just miss him so much.”

Peter knows a bit about Ellie's beliefs. Sometimes she would tell stories and talk about the lives of scholars and prophets. Stories that left him with a warm feeling in his chest.

She never really spoke about the things that she believes happen after death in detail. He had never had the guts to ask her.

Sometimes she told him about Paradise. About rivers of honey and milk. Of flying horses, with wings of gold. Of castles made of gold and silver, and tents made of pearls. It had all sounded so fantastical back then.

She had never told him about the other side of it all.

Thinking about it, and what she must feel like, because she believes in all of it, makes him gulp hard and he does the one thing that he can think of. He loops his hands around her middle and pulls her in for a hug.

“I miss him too, so much.” Peter says against the top of her head.

It feels like a reverse of roles. As long as he has known her, she has always been the one to comfort him, but it feels like he has taken that part now. He rubs her back and he can feel fresh hot tears on his cheek every few minutes. After a while they stop.

“I feel like I should say something deep now, but I have to sn-”, Peter says and barely manages to pull back and sneeze in the crook of his elbow.

That makes her laugh (one of her true belly laughs) that he hasn't heard in a while. Her laugh makes him laugh and for a bit they laugh and laugh. It feels odd and maybe a bit inappropriate to laugh in front of the graveyard but it also feels good. The heaviness in his chest is almost gone.

When they both catch their breath, Ellie leans over and pats him on his shoulder. It is such a familiar motion.

Then she gives him a smile and gets out of the car, walks around the front and opens his door.

“What are we doing?”, he asks her.

“We are going for a ride.”, she says and pulls on his arm. “Come on, it's your turn to drive. I don't think that I have any energy left.”

Peter gets out of the car and sees her get in his spot and put on her seat belt.

“What?”, he splutters when she is about to close the door. “But I can't drive. Don't you remember what happened last time?”

“No one is here. You can go in circles if you want.”

He looks at her for another long moment then he nods and tries to ignore the nervous bubbling in his belly.

“What if I crash into a tree?”, he asks her after getting into the car next to her.

Ellie laughs at that and pokes his side. “At your usual speed, even if you did hit anything, I don't think, that there would be any real damage.”

Peter puts on his seat belt and adjusts the seat and mirrors, then looks at Ellie again with big eyes.

“But what if-”

“Come on, Potter”, she says and grins at him. “Let's go for a ride.”

And that is it for their talk. The two of them go for a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony was mourned a lot in the last movie. It is hard to believe that Ben wouldn't be. This is a short chapter about how that might be for the people that were close to him. This is it for this work. The next part of this series is planned to be a lot longer than this. It will mainly focus on the friendship between my OC Ela and Ben, a friendship that no one expected (least of all me) but it won't let me go and it means a lot to me. We'll see how that works out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos.


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